Another for the Road
by Sparrow-of-Chaos
Summary: She made sure he never got lost and kept laughing, He pushed her away from the edge and made her remember to smile. The hardest choices will be the ones that matter most. Sequel to Through the Bottom of my Glass.


Author's Notes: It begins anew. 

This is the Sequel to _Through the Bottom of my Glass_. It is set four monthes later.

* * *

Quietly the man slept, unaware of the one who stood over him, watching him and taking in the scene around him. The form, sleeping off an obviously painful night seemed almost peaceful, seemingly out of place in the rather revolting state the pale blue themed bathroom was. 

"Richard…Richard," The standing form said, nudging the sleeping body with a bandaged hand, "Dick wake up!"

Richard Grayson moved slowly then sat up holding his head and stifling a groan. His icy blues eyes dark rimmed and red from the night of drinking and attempted death.

"You tried again didn't you?" Asked the voice, no anger present, only edged with sadness and concern. One that knew the secrets of the man before him understood the dark and powerful motivations and possessed a desire to help this man, not on for Richard's sake but for his own.

"Y-yeah," mumbled Richard, standing up slowly, his foot kicking an empty bottle of sleeping pills away. The orange plastic rattled across the linoleum and rebounded off the wall. The sound seemed too loud and Richard winced, his head pounding with unrelenting force.

The light flickered on the Richard gave a yelp and covered his eyes. He could actually feel his pupils shrink at the offending light. The tile blue room was a mess, an empty pills bottle and other such garbage littered about, a small puddle of drool, cracked mirror and a filthy toilet, and other things scattered about. The whole room smelled strongly of vomit, the source being the toilet itself. The room bore the effects of the previous night badly.

"What are you going to do?" Richard looked down at the question, afraid to look at the eyes of his friend. His messy black hair hanging limp around his shapely jawbones.

"I don't know," His voice cracked and quietly he wiped away a single tear that fell down his face, "lets get out of here, it reeks," he said, trying to smile. His face wrinkled with the heavy pungent and sour odour that offended his nose. The attempt failed for the most part, but it helped to know he was about to life the corners of his mouth still.

The two sat out in the hall, backs leaning against the beige wall. One ran his hand through thick blonde hair; the other stared off into space, defeated. It was a situation neither man wanted to be in and Richard felt guilty at adding another burden to his already suffering friend.

"I think you need to get out of town." Richard looked over at his friend, who simply looked off at a painting on the wall, his eyes tired and obviously not seeing the art.

"Maybe, but I can't go see Bruce, he'll be so disappointed in me…" Richard trialed off, thinking of how his actions would upset his adoptive father, and of how poorly and weak he had been acting.

"That's where you need to go. Dick, look…you're adoption by one of the most powerful men in the world has given you a bit of a perfectionist complex and an obsessive personality, you can't handle failing and with your job of being a law enforcement officer…you were settling yourself up for this. People are going to die on you, and there is nothing you can do about it, but it doesn't make you a bad person," Richard barked out a small tinny laugh.

"That has to do with going home how?" He asked as one eyebrow rose. Absently he picked at a hole in his shirt, wrinkled from being slept in.

"You need to talk to Bruce, hear from him about how he never expected you to be like him, he has known you the longest, and he will want to help you, any father would. Besides it seems you have some things to work out with him." Both men were silent.

"Yeah, maybe I do."

Richard sighed at the memory, feeling ashamed of the way his friend had caught him and of the way he had been acting. It seemed the only thing that was worse than the thought to kill yourself was the shame of trying.

He glanced up at the tall doors and gave a little sigh. Now he missed the stench of urine and the badly lit train that had taken him to this part of the city. Anything but to be back in this cavernous prison, with the invisible voice telling him he had to work to be allowed to live in such privilege. A deep feeling of dread rested in his head, warning him of how upset Bruce was going to be, and of how he was no matter what, unworthy to live in such grandeur for any length of time.

Lush hedges surrounded the walkway, all perfectly trimmed, seeming like they had been done with a straight edge. The driveway and path were red brick, every third one engraved with a calligraphic "W".

For a lone while the ex-cop just stared at the doors, one hand holding up a red suitcase, and a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder fighting off the urge to run, after a while he realized his cell phone was ringing, a tone telling him he had received a text message.

He flipped open the Motorola and looked at the screen, it was just an advertisement, something about free long distance minutes but it snapped him out of the trance like state he had been in.

"Aw what the fuck," he mumbled and rang the bell. The sound echoed off into the depths of the house and he waited part of him anxious for the door to open so he could get through this hell faster, and another wishing the door would never open.

He had reluctantly returned home.

---

His brow was furrowed, as it always was when he was concentrating. The dark haired bar waitress watched the male patron who in roughly the last two months had become her best friend. She leaned over the counter, in a modest button up blouse and a navy ascot style scarf tied loosely at her neck and watched him.

Garfield Logan's curly blonde hair was getting long, giving him a surfer style boyish look that seemed off with the level of adult concentration on his face, as well as the barely concealed sadness that stood in his blue eyes.

More than once Raven Roth had overheard girls sitting in the bat talking about his eyes, naming them all sorts of shades of blue. This never failed to amuse the cynical owner; his eyes were just blue to her, not some far off, abstract shade but rather a nice, calm blue. A colour she really liked.

Often she was amazed she had ever had such thoughts about someone who was essentially her best friend. Yet sometimes there seemed to be something more, during those silent moments at coffee shops, the long hours of talking about everything and nothing. However, she just dismissed those feelings to being silly and not based on anything real.

He had been there when a relationship went bankrupt, and she was simply looking for someone to transfer affection to, was the line she used to reason with herself and it made sense and was true. At least it seemed logical to her.

However, now the eyes that she had concluded were a simple blue were focused on papers in front of him, all typed in business style text and font, legal jargon abounding in head pounding amounts. A few legal dictionaries and books sat around him. Garfield was determined to understand what he was signing, even if it was extremely difficult.

His pen roughly scratched his signature across the line, and he lay the pen down on top of the two stacked legal dictionaries off to his right. For a moment, he glared at the books and writing instrument as if they were his worst enemies.

Slowly he lowered his head onto the bar top, a sign that he had a headache.

"Rae…" His voice was muffled. He rolled his neck moving his head so he could look at her with one eye. A lock of hair fell forward somewhat obscuring his view but he made no move to move it.

"Yeah?" She moved over towards him, concern for him clearly seen. Slowly she picked the curl off his face and set it behind his ear.

"Drink…strong…very strong…" He mumbled his lips barely moving, the bottom one red and slightly swollen by his habit of biting it in concentration. He could not even get the willpower to fully blink until Raven returned three minutes later with a glass a slight yellow-green tinge.

Garfield looked at it with a raised eyebrow and grabbed the glass, swinging his head back and downing the glasses in one gulp. Not even an instant after he finished he lurched forward coughing and spluttering, his eyes watering.

Raven smirked at his choking, taking the glass off the counter before he broke it.

"What…was…that?" He gasped out, between coughs. Slamming his hands down on the counter to brace himself. His breathing was rough, and he still gasped, barely over the shock of the drink.

"Well it was a strong version of 'Whoop Juice'," She said, beginning to giggle at the expression on his face. He did look comical eyes tearing up, body braced against a bar, coughing.

His blue eyes filled with tears, he slowed his coughing. The regulated breathing almost seemed to making the searing hot liquid in his body burn more.

"Jesusmotherfuckinchristholyfuck!" He gasped out, causing Raven to let out a loud bark of laughter. The few patrons in the bar looked at the two. Garfield realized he must look ridiculous and began trying to calm down.

"Congratulations Gar, you invented a new word."

"What was in that?" He chocked out, taking deep breathes, and praying the burning in his throat would stop. His entire diaphragm was burning, the alcohol searing its way down seemingly agonisingly slowly. Garfield knew it was just the sensation of the smarting; hot feeling was a high proof of vodka or some other hard liquor.

"Frozen lemonade, frozen limeade and a little bit of sprite and a solid amount of vodka," she explained, counting the drinks off on her fingers. Garfield looked at her, disbelief on his face, his lips still moist from his licking all the residue of the drink off them.

"Hell no, what else, vodka doesn't pack that much of a punch…" He looked at her, smiling despite the burning in his throat and stomach.

"Everclear vodka," she smiled at his quizzical look, and handed him a bottle from under the counter. It was clear glass bottle, the regular size of other vodka bottles, and about half full. It had the feel of something that is kept in a freezer; the label even had a bit of frost on it.

"This has a ninety five percent proof….holy fuck, is it legal?" he asked, turning the bottle in his hands. His thumb melting a round marks the white frost.

"Yes, but there are warnings and all that. Strong, isn't it?" she giggled at his face, and pointed out the warning flammable sign on the label.

"Why would you do this to me?" He asked, giving her fake puppy dog eyes.

"It was either that or a hundred proof, but that bottle wasn't open," Raven shrugged and turned off the neon signs above the bar, signalling the bar was closed. The three patrons paid and left, bidding the two scattered and semi drunk goodnights.

"Glad it was concern for adorable me that kept you from using the potentially dangerous vodka…." the sarcasm dripped off his voice, his smile contradicting his furrowed brow. She took back the bottle and opened the freezer under the bar counter and placed the bottle back.

"Of course, now pick up your books," she said, ignoring his look of mock indignation. She bustled around in the semi darkness, tiding up. For a second Garfield watched her, her back turned to him as she wiped off a table. His eyes traced the curve of her back beneath her blouse to the swaying her hips when she walked. It was a nice sight after hours of reading law text.

"Give me sympathy; I just spent two hour reading law books!" He picked up the books and dropped them on the table she was wiping.

"'Cause you won't hire a lawyer to deal with your parent's estate." Not once did she look up, but her voice softened when he spoke. It had only been about four and a half months since the funeral, five since Mark had died. Not enough time to joke about it, barely enough time to mention it without crying.

Still Raven knew Garfield had trouble getting out of bed in the morning even though he would never say it. The nights he spent at her place, he was always up early, making food for her, Kori and himself.

"'Cause I want to understand it. I don't want to lose my family's property, or make a mistake and sign something that will have me paying someone for twenty years." Garfield looked at his best friend and sighed, realizing how tired he was. Too many sleepless nights, all spent watching the little red lines that made up the images of his digital clock change.

"You waited four months to do this?" It was the first time they had talked about it. One day he had appeared with the books and began to read them, then four days later had begun to fill our the papers and barley finished the next day. She had not asked him a thing, preferring to wait until he was done with the mandatory estate papers.

"Had to wait for all the hospital and funeral information to be processed. Even on rush it takes a while," He explained, his smile gone. There was a rare awkward silence then the two gave a giggle at the looks of avoiding the subject the pair wore.

"Let's get to bed," He said, motioning for the stairs. Exams were over and he just had a ceremony to attend for school so he had spent the last few nights at he house one the futon chesterfield. He found he slept better knowing she was near by. Sleep actually graced him with its presence when he had the comfort of knowing she was a few feet away.

Pulling the sheet over himself he readjusted the Areosmith t-shirt he wore and closed his eyes, it seemed like only a minute had passed, but it had to have been two hours when his eyes opened as the bed moved with the force of someone climbing into bed with him.

"I had another nightmare," her voice floated in a whisper from the dark. He pulled back the blanket and she moved beside him. Wrapping them up in the blanket his thumb brushed her cheek. It was damp with tears. Another brutal nightmare. Not once had she ever told him about the content, but Kori had assured him it was extremely harsh and vivid.

He pulled her close, her back to him, and his nose inches from her hair. It smelled like kiwi and strawberry shampoo. His arms wrapped around her and soon he fell back asleep, after her breathing had slowed down to that of one slumbering. He always waited, just to make sure she did fall asleep.

When he woke up at random intervals and early in the morning, she was something to look at and think about, someone to care about when he lip trembled in her sleep or when she gave a little cry or laugh. He liked caring about someone; it was a crutch for the loneliness of his parents' passing.

Her nightmares varied on intensity, but she always went to his bed when she could. Neither were embarrassed by it, it had been a bit awkward the first morning but it had since become a routine. It was not the first time this had happened; it probably would not be the last either.

It did not matter though; they both slept better that way anyways.

* * *

You know the drill.  
Cheers. 


End file.
